The Wistful Ashes
The air in the city of Oakhaven tasted of copper and old dust, a thick, metallic fog that clung to the cobblestones and seeped into the lungs of every soul who breathed it, a permanent shroud draped over the spires of the Grand Cathedral and the low, crumbling hovels of the undercity, where you lived with the other children of the ash, your clothes stained grey, your eyes wide with a hunger...
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